


Defensive Formations

by misura



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6756013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"This slave was not trained to serve in that way," Erasmus said, softly.</i>
</p><p><i>"This idiot would like to change that," said Torveld. "Not so that you can serve; so that next time someone tries to hurt you, you can stop them." The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them.</i> (Erasmus and Torveld in Patras, pre-book 2)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defensive Formations

The third time Torveld came at him, Erasmus stood his ground and managed what a generous man might have called a 'parry'. Torveld was not, as a rule, a generous man, but he was a realist; for today, he was prepared to consider this progress.

"See? You're getting the hang of it already." The greenest recruit might have managed as much after a mere week - and no one would have offered them so much as a crumb of praise for it.

Of course, recruits were there because they wanted to learn how to fight. _Whereas Erasmus ..._

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid that I am not a very good student." Erasmus hung his head.

Torveld had trained men before. He'd trained _soldiers_ , and after training, he'd led them into battle. Some of them, he'd seen die; others, he'd seen break in the heat of battle, or after.

"You're doing fine," he said. It was true, in a sense.

Two weeks ago, Erasmus had barely been able to pick up a practice sword in the first place.

 

Torgeir sighed. "Do you have any idea what the neighbors are going to say when they hear that we're training our slaves for combat?"

"One slave," Torveld said, stubbornly. It was an old argument; likely as not, Torgeir had only brought it up because there was something else on his mind, to put Torveld in a properly defensive state of mind.

"If someone breaks a valuable statue, because they don't know how to properly value it, you simply don't give them any more valuable statues. You don't start teaching your statues how to fight." Torveld grinned; Torgeir grimaced. "You know what I mean."

"But think of the practical applications," said Torveld. "Fighting statues! We could conquer the world."

"More likely, the world would band together and conquer _us_."

Torgeir had, from time to time, a decidedly and hopelessly optimistic world view. It was one of the reasons he mostly left it to Torveld to deal with the Vaskian Empire.

"More likely, they would create their own, and everyone would all slaughter one another."

"Good thing nobody's figured out how to do it, then," Torveld said.

 

"I think - " Erasmus said, then halted, abruptly. They had eaten dinner in Torveld's rooms - simple fare, like Torveld might have gotten at the barracks (except that the brother of the king did not eat in the barracks, not even with the men he had trained).

"Yes?" Torveld asked, making sure to sound every bit as interested as he felt, and nowhere near as tired. It had been a long day, and spending the afternoon keeping an eye on his two nephews hadn't helped.

Thankfully, Torgeir didn't spoil his children (well, not his _sons_ , anyway). It didn't make them any less inclined to get into trouble, but at least they didn't expect to be able to get away with it when they got caught.

"I think that maybe I could look at it as a role. Like an actor."

It was tempting to agree. Torveld could even understand it, he thought, how someone like Erasmus would be much more comfortable _acting_ like a soldier than actually _being_ one.

That kind of comfort could get a man killed, in real combat. Worse: it could get the men next to him killed, too. "It's not a play. If I am to take you with me into the field, I need to know that you can handle it. I need to know that I can trust you to have my back."

_I need to know that you're capable of defending yourself._

Torgeir wasn't wrong, of course; slaves weren't trained for combat. They weren't expected to be _capable of defending themselves_. They were property, works of art. Living statues. Not actual people.

You could love a work of art, but not the same way you could love a real person.

 _It sure feels that way, though._ Torveld didn't see how anyone could take a slave into their beds and claim that it was fundamentally different from taking a lover. What came before, or after, yes - one did not need to woo a slave as one would a lover, after all, or consider the possible political consequences if one chose to continue the relationship.

Still, those were differences of the mind. They had nothing to do with emotions.

"This slave was not trained to serve in that way," Erasmus said, softly.

"This idiot would like to change that," said Torveld. "Not so that you can serve; so that next time someone tries to hurt you, you can stop them." The moment the words had left his mouth, he regretted them. A slave who stopped someone from hurting them would win nothing, except more punishment.

Erasmus would know that, far better than Torveld. In Vere, when people had hurt him, what good would it have done Erasmus, had he known how to hold a sword, how to fight?

"You are very kind," Erasmus said. He sounded sincere. He had, mere moments ago, told Torveld that he was far more at ease as an actor than as someone who genuinely knew how to fight.

_So does that mean all of this is an act, too? When I bed him, does that act truly bring him pleasure, or does he merely pretend that it does, because he wishes to please me?_

"I try to be."

 

"You think you're the first person to lose their heads over a pretty face?" Torgeir sounded amused.

Torveld gestured dismissively, annoyed in spite of his resolve not to be. "This isn't that."

"No?" Torgeir cocked his head. "I sent you to ensure our relations with Vere would remain friendly. You returned with Akielon slaves, one of whom still shares your bed. What do you think Kastor of Akielos will say, when he hears where his gift ended up?"

"Perhaps that Vere is rather careless and undeserving of future gifts," Torveld suggested. He couldn't quite keep a hint of disapproval out of his voice.

"There are no slaves in Vere," Torgeir said. "None. So why this gift? Was Vere expected to free them? Sell them? Provide an excuse for another war?"

Dealing with the Vaskian Empire could be perilous. Torveld had still come to prefer it over dealing with politics, though. At least when you were dealing with Vaskians, you _knew_ what they wanted, usually because they told you upfront, before moving on to telling you what they intended to do to you if you didn't choose to give it to them.

"I don't know." The admission cost Torveld nothing.

"Neither do I, and that bothers me almost as much as these reports I keep getting. True, a war between Akielos and Vere might provide opportunities for us, but I'm not a young man anymore."

Torveld had read the reports. "Laurent is not like that." _And_ I'm _not a young man anymore either._

"Then someone is very thoroughly smearing his reputation, and given that they're succeeding, it might not be in our best interest to piss them off by interfering any more than you already have by accepting the slaves as a gift."

"I made a promise," Torveld said. "Are you commanding me, as my king, to break that promise?"

Torgeir scowled. "I am telling you, as your brother, that if you end up getting killed, I will not forgive you. I will avenge you; I will mourn you, but I will not forgive you. Am I making myself clear?"

"Perfectly." Torveld rose and bowed. "Thank you."

"Go."

 

It was a little strange, seeing Erasmus among his soldiers. He did not fit in, precisely, and yet, watching him awkwardly stumble through a conversation, Torveld could not help but wonder.

How different would have Erasmus's life have had to be, to make him end up as someone not a slave? A simple Akielon soldier, perhaps, more beautiful than most. Someone whose path likely never would have crossed Torveld's. _Which would have been a pity. Still._

There had been other lovers. Torveld was not an idiot, to believe that for each man, there existed only one perfect soulmate. Had he and Erasmus never met, his bed would hardly have remained empty, unless he had wanted it to be.

 _"You should free him. After,"_ Torgeir had told him.

 _"And then take the fact that he'll stay with me as proof that he truly loves me?"_ Torveld had replied, wryly amused. _"No, thank you."_

_"I see. You're going to make this difficult."_

"It will be strange to go back there. To see Damen again," Erasmus said. He was a better rider than Torveld had feared.

"Damen?" Torveld asked, before he remembered. _I would give anything in the world to trade places with you._ "Oh. Were you close?"

"I don't think that he was very happy being a slave." Erasmus frowned a little, as if struggling with this concept. "He wasn't trained for it. I believe that he used to be a soldier of some sort."

It sounded unlikely, but then, Torveld had done his best to turn a slave into a soldier.

"Change isn't always easy."

"No," Erasmus agreed, glancing at him sideways.

"Do you wish that I would have left you behind?" _In Vere?_ Unkind, to ask that. _In Patras?_

Erasmus shook his head. "I ... it makes me happy to feel like I am doing something."

"With me?"

Erasmus blinked and flushed, before he said, "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> book 2 includes Erasmus as part of Torveld's 'retinue', which would not necessarily involve any combat training on Erasmus's part, but ... it might?


End file.
